


Winds of Change

by spikesgirl58



Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E.
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-26
Updated: 2014-01-26
Packaged: 2018-01-10 03:19:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,372
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1154147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spikesgirl58/pseuds/spikesgirl58
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>And the baton passes to the new No. 1, Section 1, Napoleon Solo.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Winds of Change

_It’s interesting how quickly your life can change._ That thought popped into Illya Kuryakin’s mind as the phone rang.  He didn’t answer it.  Even though he’d been living at Napoleon’s apartment for nearly two years, only a few people outside of work knew that.   Having a strange man answer the phone in the middle of the night had already raised havoc with Napoleon’s social life and now Illya no longer attempted to grab the instrument.

He rolled over in bed and his hand automatically dropped to his hip and rubbed the ridge of scar tissue, now as familiar as the rest of his body.  It was hard to believe that nearly three years had passed since that morning his life had changed.  Parts of the accident were still a mystery to him, and something he had no desire to delve into.  That he could walk, that he could actually still do his job, that he still had a place with U.N.C.L.E., that still amazed him.

Much of that was due to Napoleon.  His partner had refused to give up on him, even after the therapists, surgeons, even Illya had.  Napoleon had fought, struggled, and made Illya recover.  A twinge shot down his leg and Illya’s eyes closed as his fingers dug into the thick scars, trying to lessen the ache.  He could function and while his time wasn’t a record breaker, he qualified for field work, but it hadn’t come without a price.  Some days, he wished that they'd have just cut the thing off and let him go from there, surely that would have been easier.

That wasn’t in Napoleon’s game plan, though.  When it became apparent that Illya was going to need a long recovery, Napoleon moved him into his place, lock, stock, and barrel.   He set up the spare bedroom, complete with Illya’s books, records, and clothes; it was just temporary, of course, Napoleon had told him.  It was just until Illya could function on his own.

Yet as time went on, the arrangement suited them and the thought of moving out just sort of drifted from Illya’s mind.  He had his own space when he needed it, Napoleon’s company when he didn’t.  And U.N.C.L.E. got his old apartment back.  It worked out for everyone.

His bedroom door opened and Illya propped himself up on his elbows, then reached for the light.

“Mr. Waverly, sir?”  He glanced over at the clock.  Good grief, did the man ever sleep?  “Can I help you, sir?   Is there a problem?”  When had Napoleon let him in and why was he here to begin with.  Odd didn’t even begin to answer this.

He started to climb from the bed, but Waverly held up his hand as he removed his hat.  “Pardon the lateness of my visit, but I was just coming to see how you were getting along, Mr. Kuryakin.   Huston was not happy with your last results.”

“Huston should try running that course with a pound of metal in his hip and see how his numbers are.”  Then Illya’s eyes widened.  “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t mean—“

“I know, son.  It’s been a difficult recovery for you.”

“But I have recovered, thanks to Napoleon.”

“Mr. Solo has been a stalwart friend to you.”  A small, all-knowing smile.  “And a bit more, I think.”

“He’s my partner.”  Illya let the statement rest there.  Nothing more needed to be added, to his way of thinking.

“He’s going to need your friendship now and your support.”  Waverly glanced over his shoulder and smiled.  “I’d best be off now.  You’ll find a new assignment on my desk for you in the morning.  Give it your full attention.  I think it can benefit from your particular brand of tenacity.  Sleep well, Mr. Kuryakin, and thank you.”  The old man replaced the hat on his head, nodded and left.

 _That was weird,_ Illya thought as he shut off the light.  Lying back down and pulling his blanket and sheet up around his chin, he thought about it for another three seconds before he felt someone resting a hand on his shoulder.

“Illya, wake up.”

He blinked painfully in the light and frowned.  “Napoleon?”

“Get dressed, we need to go in.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“It’s Waverly.  It’s time and he’s asking for us.”

 _But he was right here,_ Illya wanted to protest.  Instead he knuckled the sleep out of his eyes and slowly climbed out of bed.

“Are you okay?”

“Huston was on my ass yesterday.  He thinks it’s time for me to retire from the field.”  Illya winced as he straightened his leg.   “Just because I’m not as fast as I was when I was twenty.”

“Who is? Have you thought about transferring to another section?  Maybe Section Three?”

Illya snorted and pulled on his pants.  “If you are going to be insulting, I’ll just stay here.”  At the lack of response, he paused and studied his long time partner.  “Napoleon?”  He rested a hand on Napoleon’s forearm and squeezed gently.

“I’m scared, Illya.”  Napoleon’s voice was soft.  “What if I’m not good enough?  Or strong enough?”

“You?  Self doubt?  That’s not like you.”

“The stakes have never been this high.  Before it was just, I don’t know, play acting.  I knew Waverly would always have my back.”

“The others will support you and offer you guidance, Waverly has made sure of that.  As for your back, I’ve been watching it for years.  I’m not of a mind to stop now.”

“You’re a good partner, Illya.”  Napoleon now rested his hand on top of Illya’s.

“I prefer to think of it as a two-way street, my friend.”  

There was a knock at the door and Napoleon’s head turned.  “So soon?”

 

They walked into the room quietly as if they were afraid of waking the man in the bed.  There were no life support machines attached to the man - just a heart monitor was about it.  

“He looks so small and frail.  It seems like yesterday, he was chewing me out for spending too much on dry cleaning.”

“It was yesterday,” Waverly murmured, his voice thin.  “You young people are still far too extravagant.”

“Sir, you asked to see us?”

“Yes, Mr. Solo, the time draws near for me to step aside and allow you to assume command of the North American office.  You’ve been trained, you have good instincts, and you will do well.”  One hand rose slightly.  “Command with your head, lead with your heart.”  He stopped to cough.  “Mr. Kuryakin.”

“Sir?”

“Your next assignment --”

“… Is on your desk, yes sir.”

“How… did you know that?” Napoleon asked and Illya smiled.  

“A good agent knows all, sees all… someone told me that once… you, I think.”

Waverly coughed again, a long grating sound and Napoleon turned back.  “Illya, get the doctor – right now.”

By the time he returned, Napoleon had turned from the bed, his eyes shiny with unshed tears.  

“He had a good long life, Napoleon, and think of how many people are alive because of him.”

“I know… it’s just a tough act to follow.”

Illya followed Napoleon along the familiar path to Waverly’s… no, Napoleon’s office.  Out of habit, both men paused before the door and then Napoleon sighed.

He preceded Illya in and went directly to the intercom system and began contacting the other Section One, Number Ones.   Out of curiosity, Illya walked to the desk over which they had been given so many assignments.  True to Waverly’s word, there was a sealed folder with his name on it and he smiled. His last assignment – His recall to the USSR?  Something else?  Only one way to find out.  Illya broke the seal and flipped open the cover.  After a moment, he closed it and walked quickly from the room.

Napoleon watched after him for a moment and then walked to the folder.   Inside were two pieces of paper.  One granted Illya U.S. citizenship should he desire it.  The other was a typed note with the words, ‘You’ve always been an excellent partner; now it’s time to be an excellent friend. A. Waverly.’

“He already is,” Napoleon murmured and went off to find his partner.


End file.
